Confessions of an Author

When I published JOANNA, my son made me a short video to help market it. I love it – perhaps mainly because he spent time helping me. We all need help sometimes, don't we. Have a look, and see what you think (he even composed the soundtrack!): I love the atmosphere he created – though actually, the novel is not very scary – my elderly mother reads everything I write, so I can never include anything too violent or graphic; I don't want to keep her awake all night. The story tells the tale of Joanna (a very bad egg) and her mother. It shows what the world looks like when you're a psychopath. It shows what the world looks like when you're trying to parent a psychopath. Mostly, it is simply an exciting, easy-read, novel. You can buy a copy from any Amazon. The US link is here: US Amazon.com link JOANNA by Anne E. Thompson. Why not buy a copy today?

Feeling Excited… (Cover photo by Chloe Hughes) I am very excited.  CLARA  has arrived from the printer, and all looks fine (books are never exactly how I envision them beforehand, due to the restrictions with ink colours, plus when I’m writing, I have no awareness of the thickness of the book). Now comes the scary bit, which is persuading people to actually read it! I do have a sense of urgency with Clara, it is a book which almost demanded to be written. I began, over a year ago, by writing the  Introduction , which was actually a point midway through the story. As I wrote it (originally so I could include it in the back of  JOANNA ) I had no idea who the characters would be, or how the story would unfold, or if it would even make sense in the wider context of the completed book. I figured it didn’t matter; if the story took off in a different direction, no one would care, and I have read ‘tasters’ in the back of books by famous authors which bear no res...

An Extract From Hidden Faces As it’s nearly Christmas, and  Hidden Faces  begins as the staff prepare for the Nativity play, I thought I would share an extract with you. I hope you enjoy it. Chapter One Cynthia Mott was late. She slotted her key into the solid front door and pushed it open, stepped into the front room, brushed her feet on the mat and hurried under the low beam into her kitchen. She dumped her bag in the corner, keys on top of the fridge and bent to retrieve her forgotten lunch. There was a thump. She froze, all her attention focused on listening. It came again. A dull, low thump. Wood on wood. It came from the cottage garden, which should have been empty. She glanced at the clock, irritable, there was no time for this, had not really been time to even collect her sandwiches. Another thump. That decided her. She dropped the lunch box into her bag, kicked off her shoes, struggled into the wellingtons by the back door and marched across the law...

A Cautionary Tale Mabel was a black labrador and when the Bond family first took her home, she entered it like a small tornado. Everything was exciting! She was just one big wiggle with a tail attached. Whenever she saw someone she would fling herself onto her back, exposing her round pink tummy for tickles. Sometimes she even produced small puddles in excitement. She was the happiest puppy you could hope to own. However, not everyone was delighted by her arrival. Suki was a mottled brown cat who was aged about four years old and eminently logical. She had inherited her sleek superiority from her Siamese mother and her deft ability as a mouser from her wild Tom father. She watched Mabel from the safety of the dresser and puffed her tail in a show of anger. She could really see no use at all for this giddy addition to the family and considered moving out. Mabel grew. She was not a dog who showed great intelligence but no one could doubt her affection. When she was shouted at f...

Rainbows in the Spray There were rainbows in the spray behind the boat, and crystals shimmered in the folds of the waves…. She had wanted to come, insisted really. He had let her – a silent nod, a look of resigned understanding. So now she stood beside him, as he navigated the route, cutting the motor when they reached the spot. The exact spot. Or so they said. When the anchor was dropped, the four men stood. Black clad aliens, elongated feet, masked faces. They dropped, backwards. A ripple, a cloud of bubbles, then gone. Down to the other world. Below the velvet canopy so keen to cover them, to hide them from view. Unseen, they searched, while she stood on the little deck, waited, did not talk. She watched the gulls, intent on their own search. Saw fish, glisten silver as they flashed away. Watched planes overhead drawing white zippers across blue sky. Saw yachts, lined like white sandwich triangles along the horizon. Listened to the water lapping against the boat. Eve...